


We Don't Need No Water

by Eligh



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: M/M, Reunion, Unless You're Mick, emotions are hard, mild spoilers for 1x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6009568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gulags, bound wrists, and conversations that are only uncomfortable if you go by Captain Cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Need No Water

**Author's Note:**

> These two will not leave me alone, and this will undoubtedly be Jossed next episode.

For all that everyone always assumes that Leonard Snart is the brains behind the brawn, Mick personally thinks that his partner can be pretty goddamn dense at times.

Take this latest step in their adventures, for instance: Mick, bloodied up and strapped to an operating table in a Russian gulag. A world away, a younger Mick is probably setting small fires in the fields bordering his family’s farm while an even younger Leonard comes to terms with the idea of being an older brother, but here, now, Len’s hands shake as he slices through the bindings holding Mick down.

“Are you all right?” Len asks him, his voice shaking in tandem with his hands. “Talk to me, Mick, did they hurt you too badly?”

“’m fine,” Mick tells him, sitting up and turning sideways, throwing his legs over the side of the table and letting them dangle. Len’s crowding him, standing far too close, but Mick doesn’t call him on it. Instead he rotates his wrists, pulling blood back into his hands. His smooth, burn-scarred skin smarts when circulation starts up again, and next to him, Len sags for just a moment before finally stepping back.

“Good,” he says, rallying and resting his cold gun on his shoulder. He shoots Mick something that’s probably supposed to be a smirk and is actually closer to a watery grimace, and then steps even further away, peering out the door of the operating theater. Mick stares at him, and the oblivious idiot glances back over his shoulder and repeats himself. “Good, I’m—good. Now come on, we need to find everyone else.”

“Wait,” Mick asks in the sort of low rumble that invariably makes Len freeze in place. It’s manipulative and Mick knows it, but who can blame him? It’s a little heady sometimes, the power Mick knows he has over his—his Len.

The thing is, Mick is fully aware how far gone he is for Len. It’s almost funny—certainly ironic—that the two of them could fall together like this, fire and ice, brute force and sharp precision. And Mick’s been head over heels since that first heist back in their twenties, knows he’d kill for Len— _has_ killed for him. Hell, he’d die for him, too, without a thought.

But Mick doesn’t think that Len knows the depths of his own feelings. Cold, after all, is always a little numb.

“What?” Len asks him now, so Mick gestures him back over. Len comes willingly, his boots crunching through the frozen blood of Mick’s tormentors, his head cocked, much of his expression masked by his goggles. Mick spreads his legs in a silent invitation and Len slots himself in perfectly, only stopping when he presses against the table, bracketed on either side by Mick’s thighs. It’s closer than propriety demands, that’s for damn sure.

Mick reaches up and pulls the goggles down around Len’s neck. That’s better. “Thanks. For comin’ for me.”

Len frowns. “Of course I came for you,” he says, the usual purr that colors his voice entirely absent. “You’re—we—it’s—” he blinks rapidly. “Of course I came.”

Mick smiles. He knows he’s got blood between his teeth; he can taste the iron of it in his mouth. “I love you, too,” he says.

Len sucks in a breath. “Mick.”

So easy to ruin this man. Mick looks up at him, letting everything, for once, show on his face. “Shut up, Lenny,” he orders, and entirely unsurprisingly, Len does. Mick reaches out and cups Len’s jaw in one large palm. “Thank you,” he says again, husky.

Len’s gun clatters down onto the table next to Mick’s hip and then Len’s leaning forward, catching Mick by the back of the neck and pressing his lips hard to Mick’s. It stings a little—Mick’s hosts hadn’t tried to spare his face in their conversation—but Mick opens eagerly to him, letting Len push his tongue in and reaching around to palm hard at Len’s ass, dragging him closer and trapping him with his thighs.

Len pulls back a little, his eyes wide and dazed, so Mick takes the opportunity and kisses down his neck, leaving bitten red marks behind in a path along the line of his throat.

“Don’t make me leave you again,” Len says, soft. His voice vibrates against Mick’s mouth, and Mick nods.

“Gimme a proper welcome back when we get the hell out of this place,” he says, and carefully pushes Len backwards. Len blinks slowly, and Mick can see the moment the armor slips back into place. The smirk Len shoots him this time is perfect, a familiar wry quirk of lips that Mick wants to bite. Melting that icy persona is one of Mick’s favorite things.

“Let’s go destroy somethin,’” Mick says. Len tilts his head and produces Mick’s gun from the recesses of his parka, because Len’s a gentleman, and gentlemen come bearing gifts when rescuing their damsels in distress.

Mick’s heavy boots thump to the ground and they turn, shoulder to shoulder, ready to face whatever carnage is about to come. But Len pauses just for a moment, right inside the door that leads them out to the corridor, to freedom.

He’s not looking at Mick when he says it. “I do, you know. I—that.”

Mick takes a breath, unbearable fondness curling in his stomach. Len’s such a sap. “I know. Now don’t let’s get all emotional on me, now.”

“Never,” Len drawls, drawing out his vowels. Mick can tell by the sound of his voice that the smirk’s back. That gorgeous smirk. “You know I like to keep a cool head.”

Mick shakes his own head slightly, exasperated. “Let’s burn this place down.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Len says, and they step into the corridor together, their boots ringing in unison. Mick grins, and next to him, Len does the same.

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of Mick being the emotionally mature one in this relationship. He knows what he wants, and he wants Len. He burns hot and is ruled by his id, so of course he's fine with whatever emotion Len brings out in him. Len, alternately, is all ego: cool and calculating and logical. He has no idea what to do with all these _feelings_ Mick makes him feel.


End file.
